


Starkly Fitting Karma

by WonderStarLord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel 3490, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutually Unrequited, One-Sided Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peggy Carter & Howard Stark Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderStarLord/pseuds/WonderStarLord
Summary: “Daughters are karma for the sins of their fathers.”He groaned.“Take heart, Howard.” Peggy patted his arm in a consolatory fashion as her smile broadened. “At least you don’t have a son called Elmonzo.”“I take offence to that!” Maria indignantly called from her hospital bed. “Elmonzo is a beautiful name!”If Tony fits a stereotype, then Toni is a cliché.AKA a Fem!Tony fic.AKA when post-EndgameSteve notices something’s different and decides, “Ah, to hell with the integrity of the timeline.”





	Starkly Fitting Karma

**Author's Note:**

> The MCU done 3490ish but not. Mostly an exploration into a female Tony Stark rather than repercussions of large-scale gender-bending.  
>   
> Also going with Antonia instead of Natasha to simplify things (and also differentiate from my fic _Joanie Loves Spidey_ ).

**1970**

_“It’s a girl.”_

Howard Stark was pleased – relieved, if he were to be truly honest – about this outcome. For about ten minutes.

He then introduced Antonia Collins Carbonell Stark to her godmother.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

He regretted this introduction almost immediately.

“ _It_?” repeated Peggy dryly.

“That she’s a girl,” Howard made sure to point out. His daughter wasn’t an  _it_. She would be – she was his  _greatest creation_.

He was going to make sure of that.

Peggy Carter Naslund shook her head fondly at him, though not without exasperation. Her red velvet lips curled to one side, and Howard narrowed his brown eyes, which were already narrowing from age. Where once he might have resembled an annoyed puppy dog, he now looked like a hardened bird of prey.

“What?”

Amused, Peggy lightly  _hmmed_.

Howard had heard that  _hmm_  before. It was usually accompanied by pain.

His.

Paperwork on his desk, bureaucracy in his way, Russian spies in his office kind of pain.

“Peg …”

“Oh, well, you know what they say,” she said nonchalantly.

“I’ve made a career out of ignoring what that amorphous ‘they’ says.”

“Not even what _they_ say about fathers and their daughters?”

“Yeah?” he said impatiently. “What’s that?”

Peggy’s smile was neither kind nor vicious.

Howard was unpleasantly reminded of paperwork, bureaucracy and spies.

“Daughters are karma for the sins of their fathers,” she lightly informed him, looking far too pleased with the wisdom she had to impart.

He groaned.

Howard had been hoping for a girl. A fresh start. Freer from his own legacy than a boy would have been.

And then Peggy had to remind him of the _they_ and what they had to _say_.

“Take heart, Howard.” Peggy patted his arm in a consolatory fashion as her smile broadened. “At least you don’t have a son called Elmonzo.”

“I take offence to that!” Maria Stark indignantly called across the room from her hospital bed, tossing her long, sweat-matted blonde hair. “Elmonzo is a beautiful name!”

Her mother hadn’t been particularly loud, but Antonia’s crying  _was_  upon deciding that she didn’t appreciate being disturbed.

“Oh, shh, shhh.” Howard panicked at the squishy noise-maker in his arms. “God –”  _Uncontrollable_  squishy noise-maker. “Sorry, shhhhh …” He had no idea how to turn this thing off. Where was the off-button? There _had_ to be an off-button. Right? Somewhere?

“Need a hand with him?” asked Bill, who had just returned from a trip to the hospital gift store. He was gripping a handful of red and yellow helium balloons as well as a stuffed animal so large that he had difficulty carrying it under his considerably large arms.

Bill appeared to have …

Of course.

Bill had one of the old Bucky Bears – still in production and surprisingly popular, thanks to all the comic books, films and television serials that had been made over the years – because _of course_ he did. He had an exasperating soft spot for the old things. Understandable. And exasperating.

Howard wondered where on earth Bill could have possibly gotten a Bucky Bear that _big_. He would have had to either contact the manufacturer or make one himself. Neither option would have been a surprise to discover true.

 _Soft spot_.

“That’s quite all right.” Peggy pecked Bill on the cheek, leaving behind a red lip print, before taking matters into her own finely manicured hands. “That’s better, isn’t it, darling?” she spoke softly to the squirming pink-blanketed bundle in her arms.

Peggy’s gaze moved up to meet her husband’s as she gently rocked her goddaughter. “And it’s a  _her_ ,” she said to Bill with a funny expression on her face. The sort of facial expression that meant whatever enticing subtext was being exchanged between the two fell under their annoying banner of  _Things Howard Wasn’t Allowed to Know About_.

Howard Stark was a scientist. He was a curious creature. He chased discovery and sought answers. He loathed that banner.

But.

The  _timeline_.

They “had to preserve the timeline”. Which was nonsense. _Bill_  had to have changed it already simply by extending his return trip. But no, he insisted on maintaining the integrity of future (past?) events so as to ensure occurrences to come didn’t turn out even worse than they did in the past (future????).

“Even worse,” Bill had said. Wasn’t that enough reason to want to change things this time around?

However, Bill put his foot down. Peggy agreed. Howard did not sulk.

Not unlike the devil you know, _forewarned was forearmed_ , so said Bill, so said Peggy, so sighed Howard.

Howard keenly observed the nonverbal exchange that husband and wife continued to have above his quietening daughter. He still couldn’t get a read on either of them.

Still. Not. Sulking.

Since his return, since becoming  _Bill_ , Steve had been quiet. Kept to himself. “He saw a lot of things in the future,” Peggy explained. He “had the fight fought out of him.” Howard couldn’t deny his retirement, could never deny that Captain America didn’t deserve to retire, but it was an awful shame. This Cold new world order that America was fighting sure could use her Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.

Steve Rogers went down in the ice.

James William Carter Naslund, army vet turned proto-beatnik, was a mild-mannered comic book artist and wild hair enthusiast.

The long hippy hair and matching bushy beard couldn’t be avoided unfortunately, lest someone recognise him. Obie made  _comments_  whenever they crossed paths, and Howard had to bite his tongue. Hard. Whose side he would take, Howard couldn’t be too sure. Old pal and _greatest_ of their generation or not, the man looked like one of the goddamn hippies who had settled in front of his buildings to protest who-the-hell-knows-what-now?

Yes, he made weapons. Yes, he made money – a _lot_ of money – from those weapons. Was it his fault the U.S. government kept buying them? Howard couldn’t help being the best! He couldn’t help being the best just as much as he couldn’t help making the best. Which was what their boys deserved, wasn’t it? He was doing the right thing. Wasn’t he?

He was protecting them all. Protecting their great nation.

Wasn’t he?

Howard told himself him was. Obie told him that he was. That they were. That this what what they did.

Obadiah Stane immensely disliked Bill Carter Naslund, blaming his influence for the years Howard had “wasted” on researching renewable energy. Howard didn’t want to give up on that particular pet project. He could picture the future of their planet perfectly, see where the true waste of the industrial age was heading. It was dark and ugly and _impossible_ to _undo_ past a certain point. He only gave up after Ivan.

The betrayal. Ivan Vanko was more than an employee, more than a fellow scientist who spoke in the same language. He was Howard’s _friend_. Their wives were friends. They were all friends.

They were _supposed_ to be friends.

Howard tried not to think about Ivan. Some days were easier than others. On the less easier, well …

Macallan was a more steadfast friend than Ivan had turned out to be.

Obie was disconcertingly pleased with the Vanko fallout. Howard turned his focus back to weapon manufacturing, disappointed in himself. Peggy was equal parts concerned and relieved. Stark Industries was the best and made the best, after all – it was _his_ company, with his _name_ on it. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be able to continue to carry on carrying on. Bill, on the other hand, was visibly disappointed but understanding. Resigned, but accepting.

Bill gave Howard a consoling pat on the shoulder at his decision to give up on a better, brighter future. “For now,” said Bill solemnly, assuring him they would get there eventually. Maybe not anytime soon, but eventually.

Howard had hoped to make a greater contribution to history than destruction. _Devastating_ destruction. He was devastatingly talented at being talented. He had helped create Captain America, did numerous things to help humanity, to improve the world. But …

His list of deeds also included the Manhattan Project and unprecedentedly profiteering from post-World War wars. He didn’t need any godforsaken hippie telling him what he already knew.

Howard was hoping his legacy would be something better. Something more. Something great.

He took his daughter back from Peggy and smiled, ignoring the increasingly curious nonverbals volleying between the Carter Naslunds next to them.

This child was the future. His child. His greatest creation.

She was the great Antonia Stark.

* * *

**1973**

Toni Stark tilted her head inquisitively as she scrutinised the stranger sitting slightly hunched on her favourite armchair. Which she had claimed ages ago. _Rude_.

The stranger was a strangely familiar man she was fairly certain she had never met before, tall and dark – so very dark, except for his skin, which was a snowy, ghostly pale. He had unkempt hair, brushing his bulky shoulders, which her parents most definitely would have disapproved of. The beginnings of his unruly beard reminded her of Uncle Bill – definite disapproval from the party-pooping peanut gallery. Toni decided that she liked him for these exact reasons.

“Who the hell are you?” she wanted to know.

“That’s a pretty little mouth you’ve got on ya, doll,” said the man, dryly amused. His voice was low. Gravelly yet soft, like he didn’t use it a lot. _What kind of person didn’t talk a lot_ , wondered Toni, uncomprehending. Certainly not anyone she had ever known. Even retiring Uncle Bill could go on and on ad nauseam, if you knew which buttons to push – and Starks had damn fine button-pushing abilities.

“Well?” Toni and patience weren’t exactly the best of friends. Or just friends. Not even near the realm of acquaintances, really. Never had been and, odds were, never would be. Patience was for suckers who couldn’t – wouldn’t – get up and get stuff done (Dad didn’t actually use the word “stuff” when he imparted this upon her, but she agreed to swearing to secrecy in exchange for some time with some circuit boards).

“I’m …” He paused. “James.”

“I’m Toni.” She stuck out her hand expectantly. For a firm handshake, not a dumb princess kiss. Her mom would have tutted, but she liked to think that her dad would have considered it good initiative.

James carefully shook her hand, like she was – no, not something combustible – something _breakable_ that he was afraid of crushing if he held on just the slightest bit too hard. She made sure to squeeze extra hard to dissuade him of this absurd notion.

A slight smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “It’s always the little ones.”

“Not for long,” she sniffed haughtily. “I’ve already grown an inch and three quarters since my last half-birthday.”

“Is that right?” said James seriously. _Good_ , thought Toni. He already knew she was somebody to be taken seriously. He was smart.

“On my current trajectory, I fully expect to overshoot Mom by sixteen, Dad by eighteen.”

“That sounds ambitious.”

“My math is right.”

“Oh?”

“It always is. Just like Mom’s.”

“Not your Dad’s?” said James, amused.

“Only Dad is dumb enough to think he’s better at math than Mom. She coulda been a mathematician, everyone says – even Dad – but she decided she liked music better,” Toni recited like she had done so many times before. Which she had.

 _Had to_.

It was so _embarrassing_ , having a mom who was a _socialite_ , which Toni understood was basically the profession of doing _nothing_. Toni was going to do science, obviously. Maybe with computers. It was the logical choice. With increased processing power, computers could do anything! Everything!

Toni needed to be able to do anything and everything.

She was gonna build the future. Her dad always said so.

“Mom’s real good at playing the piano,” Toni made sure to add. See? Old ladies wasn’t _entirely_ useless.

“And what about you?” asked James, leaning over in interest.

”What about me?” she shot back perhaps a tad too defensively.

”What’re you good at?” he said softly.

Toni gave James her widest, most confident grin. “Everything!”

”Everything?” James managed to seem incredulous and enthusiastic without sounding in any way condescending, like most other grown-ups did.

”Well, not yet,” she admitted lowly, “but soon, I’m gonna be the best everything.”

”Soon, right?”

”Real soon.”

* * *

**1977**

Tony Stark was shipped off to boarding school at the age of seven. What Howard had been thinking, Bill didn’t know. However, if there were certain fixed events that continued to unfold in a similar, if not the exact same, manner, he could maybe almost understand why his old friend had done what he did.

_Toni_ Stark was kidnapped on her way home from school.

There wasn’t a lot of distance to cover, between Brearley – where she was six going on sixteen and ploughing through advanced _high school_ classes already – and the Stark’s primary residence on Fifth Avenue. The family’s long-time friend and ever-loyal butler, Edwin Jarvis, waited by Howard’s best car directly in front of the main entrance at 610 East 83rd Street, precisely thirty minutes before the bell rang every weekday.

It was a spring afternoon in New York, no more or less special than any other. Except for that it ended with a bullet-riddled Rolls, a hospitalised Mr Jarvis, and a missing six-year-old heiress.

The Starks received no call. There was no ransom.

It was terrifying.

Steve –

_Ahem_   …

Bill –

Well …

_Agent 41_ had been slaying the foul heads of HYDRA with extremely personal prejudice from within S.H.I.E.L.D. since 1970, after much discussion and debate with Directors Carter Naslund and Stark. That same year, he had found the Winter Soldier –

_NO._

He had found MIA United States Army Sergeant James Barnes, now confirmed POW.

The recovery of Bucky Barnes wasn’t as literally explosive as it could have been (as it  _had_  been, once upon another time, in another place), but didn’t help U.S./Russian relations in the middle of the  _Cold War_.

Bucky kept a low profile after being found, and spent the next two years in a safe house. The cosy, isolated cabin where Bill had gotten some much needed R & R after being defrosted (again, another  _time_ , another  _place_ ), surrounded by nature and away from prying eyes. Just what the doctor ordered.

Speaking of _doctors_ , it would be  _years_  before the cabin got its  _incredibly_  resistant outfitting, but there were no complaints. Though there were many apologies regarding property damage, given in excess by Bucky – once he remembered enough to remember he was Bucky – and brushed aside by Howard.

Howard was happy to have whatever needed fixing get fixed whenever it needed to, and even offered to house Bucky when the fixing needed to get done. Construction was loud and people were … not quite Bucky’s thing anymore.

Bill had extended his hand to Bucky as well. Not unexpectedly, given how things went down _before_ ( _time_ ,  _place_ ), he was turned down. What  _was_  unexpected was Bucky taking up Howard’s offer – any house he wanted, of which there were many to choose from – on several occasions, and ending up practically living with the Starks in New York for years to come.

The Retreat was what Bill had believed Bucky would want. He deserved somewhere peaceful, a place to heal, and on his own terms (read:  _alone_ ) without the burden of anybody else’s expectations. Stark Mansion on Museum Mile was not such a place, bustling with house-staff, depending on the hour; teeming with businessmen and socialites, depending on the day; and inhabited by a singularly eccentric family, depending on the month.

Bucky had been living in a guest room at the Starkses that hadn’t really been a _guest_ room for the past five months when _it_ happened. He didn’t hesitate to join Agent 41 and the Madam Director herself to locate Toni. The three of them retrieved her in less than twelve hours.

Maria cried the hardest she ever had when they came back with her daughter, safe and surly, while Howard had never looked  _happier_. They had gotten their daughter back, safe and relatively sound.

_Tony_ Stark was shipped off to boarding school at the age of seven under an alias.

Toni Stark stayed in the in the city and was assigned a personal bodyguard (super-secret, extra-special code name: _Bucky_ ).

* * *

**1982**

“That’s not nice.”

“He’s not nice.”

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

“You reap what you sow, Richards.”

Reed Richards sighed and returned his attention to the equation-laden blackboards at the front of the classroom. Toni failed to follow suit and sniggered into to the hand holding her pen. A pen!

See?

She wasn’t entirely unstudious.

She even enjoyed what she was learning. What she was actually, actively learning! Mr Richards (Reed’s dad) was awesome and smart and (promise not to tell anybody, OK?) possibly awesomer and smarter than her dad!

Toni finally got to ditch the preppy bows and school skirts about a year ago, had been learning at the Freedom Foundation since, and.

It. Was. Awesome.

Before that, things were not so awesome. Her dad disappeared for three months, her mom was mad, and Uncle Bucky was sad. But then Dad came back, which was great, and introduced her to the Richardses, which was maybe even better.

Nathaniel Richards and his fourteen-year-old son Reed moved to the city from California a few weeks after her dad returned wherever-he-failed-to-explain-he-went. Howard had sold them the empty old Baxter Building in the heart of Midtown that he never used, and thus was born the Freedom Foundation!

The FF (because only a moron with nothing better to occupy their time would say five syllables when they could instead say two) was a highly advanced learning institute for the smartest kids in the world. Obviously. Because Toni and Reed were in it (seriously, don’t spread _this_ around, but Reed Richards might actually be smarter than her).

Among their peers were a vaguely British-sounding kid from upstate, a know-it-all from Nebraska, a few princes – one soft-spoken, one non-speaking, one absolutely insane – from nations of questionable existence, and the Euro-tool.

It was basically an ego keg and, without Toni, a total sausage fest, but also the most intellectually stimulating place on earth. It was also the first place that Toni had ever felt like she fit in. She wasn’t the weirdly smart weirdo here.

**Author's Note:**

> WIP.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Recommended reading/watching/et cetera:**  
>  _Agent Carter_  
>  _S.H.I.E.L.D._ (2010-12)  
>  _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ S2E14-15  
>  _Fantastic Four_ Vol 2


End file.
